Hypoglycemia
by EmmyH
Summary: Rodney and his hypoglycemia. Somewhat plotless, but fun... :


Started writing this a while ago, and gave up because I didn't have a place to go with it. Then, yesterday, I came back and read it and thought, "Hey, this is pretty good!" Which just goes to show that sometimes all you need is a little perspective--and a dash of ego won't hurt either. ;)  
Pretty much a PWP: Rodney's hypoglycemia. Tell me how you liked it!

* * *

He saw some scientists in the mess, but not their beloved leader. 

"The macaroni and cheese is truly excellent," said a slightly accented voice from behind him. "I highly recommend it."

He turned around. "Zelenka!" he said happily, thinking, _Now we're getting somewhere._ If anyone knew where Rodney was, it would be this man. "Late lunch, huh? Where's McKay?" he said, slipping into the chair opposite Zelenka.

"I do not know," Zelenka said, smiling. "I convinced him to eat breakfast, but I have not seen him since then. He is probably in his office." Zelenka spooned the last of his mac'n'cheese into his mouth, and pushed his tray away from him. "I will come with you, if you like."

John shrugged. "Sure," he said. "C'mon."

As they walked through the hallway, Zelenka asked, "For what reason do you want Rodney?"

"We were going on a mission today, and I wanted to tell him it's postponed until tomorrow."

Zelenka nodded as they approached McKay's lab. "He would not be happy if he prepared today and then found out."

They were in McKay's lab. McKay wasn't.

"He's not here," John said quietly.

"Rodney, are you here?" Zelenka called, and then turned to Sheppard. "He may be kneeling behind a counter, to work with the—"

"Here," said a voice—Rodney's. Zelenka and John circled around the counter, to find McKay sitting on the ground with his back against it, head in his arms. "Hi," he muttered.

Zelenka sighed sharply, kneeling beside his friend. "You faint again, you—" he muttered several words in Czech that John could guess weren't very complimentary. "You must take better care of yourself!"

"I have only passed out from this_ once_," Rodney said, head still behind his hands. "Besides, it's not my fault. It's a medical condition. Now, do either of you have a candy bar on you or something, because I'm really not feeling well."

John looked questioningly at Zelenka, who shrugged. "Hypoglycemia," the Czech offered. "It has happened a few times. He _should_ carry something with him to treat it, but…"

"Shut up, Radek," Rodney muttered. "Candy bar?"

Zelenka shook his head. "I do not have anything," he said.

John frowned. "Neither do I. I'm gonna call Beckett."

"Nooo, you don't have to call Beckett," Rodney moaned, still behind his arms. "He'll just ask a bunch of stupid questions…"

John walked to a corner of the lab, tapped his earpiece, and started talking quietly.

"He's contacting Beckett, isn't he?" Rodney asked, looking up for the first time. "Damn."

"You are very white," Zelenka observed solemnly.

"It's a symptom," Rodney said. "If you just gave me a candy bar or something—"

"Neither of us has one," Zelenka said firmly. "We must wait until Beckett comes."

They were quiet for a moment, and then Rodney said quietly, "I hate this."

"I do not blame you," Zelenka said, patting him on the shoulder. "I would as well."

John came back. "He's coming," the Major said, and then kneeled down on the opposite side from Zelenka. "So what happened?"

Rodney rolled his eyes, and leaned his head against the cabinet. "I got dizzy, so I sat down and felt in my pocket for the candy bar which is always there so I can avoid things like this. But it wasn't there. Happy?"

"Not really," John said.

"Well, good, 'cause I'm suffering," Rodney muttered, closing his eyes.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, then a voice said, "Hello? 's anybody in here?"

"Oh, right," John said, and stood up: they were all behind the counter, so nobody could see them from the door. "Back here," he called. Beckett hurried around the counter, medical kit in hand.

"What seems to be the trouble?" he asked, kneeling in front of Rodney.

"Hypoglycemia," Rodney muttered. "I told them if they gave me a candy bar or something I'd be better, but did they listen to me? Nooo, they didn't, which is why I'm sitting helplessly on the floor." He pouted, and Beckett smiled slightly.

"Well, I've brought a glucometer with me, so let's see what your levels are, shall we?"

Rodney sighed, but held out a hand: he'd done this before. Carson took hold of the hand, swabbed one finger, and stabbed it carefully with a lancet. When a tiny drop of blood welled out, the doctor inserted it into the glucometer, waited three seconds, and…

"Sixty on the nose," Carson announced. "Well, you're not about to fall into a coma, but it's a bit too low for my liking. Major, dig around in that bag, would you? There are some juice boxes in there; just grab one and hand it to me. Now," he continued, turning back to Rodney, "when did this start?"

John rummaged through the bag, Rodney's voice weakly protesting in the backround. He felt through lots of pointy metal tools and bandages, and finally found some squishy juice boxes at the bottom, and triumphantly pulled them out. "Here! Uh… how's orange juice sound?"

"I'm allergic," Rodney groused, "not that you would care. I'm sure you think hypoglycemia goes swell with anaphylactic shock--'swell' being the operative word, of course. But I'd prefer apple juice or something, if you don't mind. Just, you know, a personal choice not to die today."

Beckett sighed. "We're not gonna let you die, Rodney," he said, slightly exasperated. "Certainly not today. You may be uncomfortable, but you're certainly not in any danger. Major, I think I have some apple juice in there, too."

"Yeah," John said, "it's right here. Sorry, McKay, I forgot." He unwrapped the straw, poked it in the little silvery hold, and adjusted the straw, then handed it to his physicist.

"Oh, no problem," Rodney said, and sipped enthusiastically from the juice box. "It's not as if deadly allergies can kill you or anything. Don't worry yourself, Major." He quickly finished off the juice box, then closed his eyes and leaned his head back. "It's not as if anybody will miss me or anything."

"Stop fishing for compliments, Rodney," Zelenka said fondly. "It is not becoming."

The four men sat in slience for a few minutes, John, Radek, and Carson watching Rodney. Then Carson said, "Rodney, are you feeling any better?"

The scientist opened his eyes cautiously. "Uh, yes," he said, and started to lever himself up. John and Carson immediately grabbed his arms, helping him stand.

"You should have a sandwich," Beckett said. "Something more filling than juice, anyway."

"I'll get one," John said. "They've always got them at the mess. You taking him to the infirmary?"

Carson nodded. "Aye, we'll be going to the infirmary to check over, just to make sure there's nothing else wrong with him."

"_He_ is standing right here, thank you very much!" Rodney complained, holding lightly onto the counter. "Now can we just go?"

Carson smiled painfully. "Certainly, Rodney," he said. "Come on." He took McKay by the arm and started to lead him out the door, but Rodney stopped him.

"Uh, wait," Rodney said, and turned to John and Radek. "Well… I guess… um, thanks."

John smiled. "Not a problem," he said.

"Are you…are you going to cancel the mission because of me? Because, I mean, it would be good for me to go, but Carson's probably gonna keep me here for today, and although I'm sure my presence would be instrumental, it may not be…"

"Actually," John interrupted, "the mission's already been postponed until tomorrow. That's why I came to find you, actually."

"Oh," said Rodney, frowning. Then, "Oh! So you won't have to go without me. Good! Uh, Major, you might want to tell Elizabeth about those markings we saw from the MALP—I told you what I thought those were, right? And, Zelenka, the power readings in section 7 have been looking a little funky, so if you could—"

"All right, Rodney," Carson said, pulling him away again, "c'mon. We have a physical exam to finish, remember?"

Rodney sighed. "Right. Well, I guess I'll see you—Stop that, Carson, I'm perfectly capable of walking on my own. In fact—" And Rodney's voice faded away as he was guided to the infirmary.

John rolled his eyes at Radek, who smiled and shrugged, and then the Major headed back towards the mess, muttering, "Our Rodney…

* * *

And how'd you like it? Good? Bad? Here's a question for ya: why did you like/despise this piece? Please, I love feedback:) 

Your anxious writer, Emilie :)

6/15/07-- edited a few tiny things... Rodney's blood sugar level was changed from 52 to 60, because 52 DID seem a little low...although my-sister-the-diabetic once went to the nurse's office at school, feeling 'a little dizzy,' she said--and her blood sugar read as 11. (Which, for anyone who doesn't know this stuff, is REALLY low. Normal is somewhere around 80-120...)


End file.
